


Of all people who could possibly come and save him, Geralt would never have expected Dandelion.

by Stingray_vibes_117



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Witcher 3, self-reflecting, very mild angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:34:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27131879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stingray_vibes_117/pseuds/Stingray_vibes_117
Summary: Geralt self-reflects while bleeding out on the mossy forest ground; how fortunate that his old friend shows up to save him.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	Of all people who could possibly come and save him, Geralt would never have expected Dandelion.

**Author's Note:**

> This is technically not a ship-fic but feel free to interpret it as such if you want.

There is this common belief that as you die, a feeling of acceptance eventually washes over you.

Geralt realizes too late that it's all bullshit- there is no acceptance; there is no feeling of tentative contentedness at the life he's managed to make for himself.

There is only fear, accompanied by dreadful anticipation. 

The flesh under his nails gets coated with blood as he weakly presses his hand onto the gaping hole in his abdomen. 

Geralt just didn't think he would die alone. Some part of him hoped he would be surrounded by family when it would happen. Maybe an old lover or friend would be holding his hand as he slipped away. Maybe Ciri would be sitting next to him, watching him with tired pity. He never thought it would happen like this. Then again, Vesemir did say no witcher's ever died in his own bed.

No, Geralt never really thought he'd die in his bed.

He just didn't think he'd die alone.

This misfortune just shows consistency, - he realizes bitterly - because despite his efforts Geralt has always been alone.   
He was alone when his mother brought him into this world and gave him up to the school of the wolf.   
He was alone when all the townfolk spat and cursed at him as he walked by them on the streets.  
He was alone when he played Gwent with mages in pubs thinking he belonged there. Now he will die alone surrounded by crimson silt and moss, which gradually get stickier as he loses more blood.

A thin trail of blood drips down his chin- Geralt's vision gradually goes dim, his snake eyes slowly becoming unfocused. Some primal survivalist instinct begs him to pull himself up and do something, but he fails to move at all.

There isn't much to do to distract yourself when you're bracing for death, and there are certainly a few things that can console you. Geralt soothes himself the only way he possibly can; by reassuring himself that Cirilla is safe. So really it's okay... right?

No, it's not. Geralt doesn't want to die.

Cold, purple fingers shakily wrap around his medallion. No point fighting now- he just needs to give in. It'll be like falling asleep. But it isn't. 

Unexpected, panicked footsteps snap his eyes wide open. 

"Geralt- Geralt!" 

What a familiar voice- of all people who could possibly come and save him right now, Geralt would never have expected Dandelion.


End file.
